So sweet it's sickening!

It was 6:00 in the morning when I finally succumbed to the inevitable, after a restless few hours drifting in and out of sleep. 

I'd hoped I'd get through the nausea without chundering. I knew it would make me feel better (at least in the short term) to expel all the nasty stuff out of my tummy, but it's sort of like that first pee of the night when you're out on the lash. Once you've broken the seal you're back in the lav every five minutes or so after that.

The urge to spew my guts up into the bucket stationed beside the couch had been successfully suppressed for three hellacious hours, but now my time was up.

I slowly sat up, taking great care not to slosh my tummy contents around. I didn't want to trigger any spontaneous projectile vomiting all over the carpeted living room. That would suck.

I glanced at my eldest boy, who'd been sleeping beside me on the couch. He'd made it through from ten o'clock the previous night without throwing up. Maybe he was over the worst of it....

"Surprise!" said the little guy, who's eyes were wide open. I managed a weak smile in greeting, and he sat up, watching his Momma warily, as I said and signed carefully (taking care not to freak him out) "Momma's sick.."

"Oh!" came his response, as I lowered myself onto all fours on the floor, and, without further ado, started hurling into the bucket over and over until I was completely spent.

"Momma's sick in a bucket like [insert big kid's name here]!" He stated. He often refers to himself in the third person - I guess just like Momma does.

He didn't panic or cry or look scared or anything. He just waited patiently for me to stop being sick.

"You better, Momma?" he asked when I finally rested my head on the sofa, breathing deeply to fill my battered tummy with fresh cool air. I think I mumbled "a little" or something to that effect. He crawled over to me, and laid on his front with his arms wrapped around my head.

"I come to rescue you, Mommy!" No matter how crappy I was feeling, that made me feel like a million dollars!

"Thank you baby" I managed to get out. Then, that little grown-up three year old leaned over and started patting and rubbing my back with his little hand, just like his Momma had done with him all afternoon the previous day.

I'd been touched by an angel.

Okay, so my sickness didn't magically go away. In fact, I spent the next six hours of my life throwing up (I had more fun being in labour!), just like I'd known I would! Sadly, so did my poorly angel baby, who - as it turned out - wasn't over the worst of it after all!

Never, in my wildest dreams, could I have imagined a scenario where we'd all be gleefully cheering "Mommy's turn!", me with my game-face on, moments before retching into a bucket.

Oh, what it means to be the Momma!